


forty-five minutes (to get all dressed up)

by mirarlas



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Bruising/Marking, Bets & Wagers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Praise Kink, Shaving Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirarlas/pseuds/mirarlas
Summary: Quentin's beginning to suspect they won't even make it to the club.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	forty-five minutes (to get all dressed up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



Elliot comes at Quentin with the straight razor Margo knows he bought for a terrible Sweeney Todd costume and keeps around for exactly these kinds of scenes. "You should," Quentin says, staring at El, at the razor. Margo watches his Adam's apple dip as he swallows. "My face isn't..."

"And that's why he has his lovely assistant," says Margo, pulling Quentin's back up against her and holding a warm towel to Quentin's face. The cotton isn't impeding his breathing in any way, but he's gasping as if he wishes it would. "Just a couple minutes, your pores will open right up."

Elliot, because he can read Margo's mind and neither of them are the type to waste those minutes, pulls out a tub of hand cream. "We can multitask while you wait. Your _hands_ , Q, I don't know how you live like this." 

Quentin makes a noise of indeterminate horny despair as Elliot tenderly, thoroughly, _firmly_ rubs lotion into every crevice of his hands.

"Hey, El," Margo says casually, tightening her free hand on Quentin's hip. "If he comes while you're shaving him but I'm feeling him up, which one of us wins?"

Elliot thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers fake-thoughtfully on Quentin's palm. "We'll call it a tie, readjourn later for a sudden-death round."

"Wins?" Quentin says through the towel.

"So Margo and I might have made a bet," Elliot says, cradling Quentin's wrist in both of his weird spidery yaoi hands. Margo isn't particularly into them, but the contrast does something to Quentin. "That we were going to help you calm down before the party-"

"Because you're wound so tight you'd go off in five seconds and die of shame," Margo adds, "which would really kill our collective buzz-"

"-and we want you to feel good," El finishes, with one of those disgustingly earnest looks he's been aiming at Quentin lately. "So whoever makes you come first, between the two of us, wins."

“...Wins what?”

“Dunno,” Margo says, leaning forward and letting her hair brush Q’s neck. All his everyday twitchiness is still there during sex, but what seemed jumpy and nervous in class becomes… well, still nervous, but responsive. He is incredibly, gratifyingly easy to take apart, and Margo and Elliot had been looking for a hobby. “Just, wins.”

“Oh my  _ god, _ ” Quentin says, more despairing but equally horny. 

Margo pulls the towel off of Quentin’s face and watches his tells as Elliot leans close. Purportedly, El is checking Q’s pores. Actually, Quentin’s lizard brain really likes it when they leave him to sweat a little. 

“Is that a problem?” Elliot says, tilting Quentin’s chin up with the razor handle. 

“It’s. Uh. I,” Quentin says, so Margo pulls him away from El’s face to give him a chance to think. By the hair, which might not have been super helpful, but hey. Slapping is supposed to help with hysteria, maybe this works the same way. 

“I’m not, like,” Quentin says, his eyes going anywhere except El or Margo. “If you keep going like this I’m not… gonna last, very long.”

“Q, honey,” El says, still looking earnest but with the hungry edge Margo knows and loves underlying it, “that is the opposite of a problem.” 

Margo doesn’t really kink on shaving when it’s her, but she’s very into this good-dom-bad-domme thing El’s got going. He’s carefully brushing lather onto Quentin’s face, murmuring directions and finding excuses to loom over him; she’s pulling Quentin’s hair to hold him still for the razor. Between them, Q is having a hard time keeping his face still enough to avoid getting nicked. 

“Okay, Margo, I do actually need to concentrate for this last bit,” El says, less listen-to-daddy and more workmanlike. “Now Q, if you can just tilt your head back- just like that.” His hands are careful on Quentin’s throat, not hard but not especially soft. The blade goes exactly where it needs to without a single nick, even as Quentin swallows tremulously.

This isn’t her kink, but that doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate when El does it well. 

El turns away to find the aftershave; now that there’s no potential for exsanguination if Quentin gets nervous, Margo makes her move. Quentin has a textbook case of boyfriend dick, but he’s not, like,  _ tiny.  _ He fits nicely in her hand.

“Treachery,” says Elliot, gasping dramatically. “I take my eyes off him for one second and you swoop in like a harpy-” 

“You weren’t doing anything with him,” Margo says, which is a complete lie, but one that El will go to great lengths to debunk. You’re welcome, Quentin, she thinks, giving him a squeeze.

“He’s right here,” says Quentin, trying for weary but landing firmly in breathy. 

“He sure is,” Elliot says, smacking aftershave onto Quentin’s cheeks. “But you’re not in the driver’s seat right now, okay? We’re taking care of you, that’s our job, yours is just to relax.” 

That’s a classic El line, but he doesn’t typically mean it this much, and- Margo looks at Quentin’s chest, which is rising and falling like a cornered rabbit- it isn’t typically this tall of an order. 

“If you can’t relax,” Margo says, “then we’ll settle for scared but turned on about it.” 

_ “Mar _ go,” Quentin whines, in that annoyed-but-resigned way that means she’s already won.

She grinds her hips forward and her hand back, reminding Quentin exactly how pinned he is. “It’s two on one, Coldwater. We can handle you.”

Quentin sighs in relief- she’d forgotten he had that thing about deep pressure- and yelps when El meets his lips, his cock jumping in Margo’s hand. “Fuck,” he says, “that-” 

“Stubble, right?” El says, grinning. 

“That’s why we shave before we make out with people,” Margo says, “because we’re considerate adults who don’t want to ruin our friends’ skincare routines for one goddamn quickie-” 

“That was one time,” El says in fake affront.

Quentin narrows his eyes. “You didn’t shave.”

Elliot gives him his best fake-innocent state. “I thought ‘ruined’ was the vibe we were going for here.” 

Margo starts to jerk Quentin harder, Elliot leans back in to eat him alive, and Margo thinks: relaxed might be asking too much, but ruined, they can definitely do. 


End file.
